


Calling a Truce

by deebeebird



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Antagonism, Banter, Blackwatch Era, Gen, Jesse McCree is a Little Shit, Music, Uneasy Friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-21
Updated: 2018-06-21
Packaged: 2019-05-26 06:34:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,173
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14994935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deebeebird/pseuds/deebeebird
Summary: In which McCree and Reyes find unexpected common ground.





	Calling a Truce

**Author's Note:**

> The fact that there's an existing tag for 'Jesse McCree is a Little Shit' makes my life, let me tell you
> 
> Anyway, here's a last minute contribution for Day 4 of Blackwatch Week--I focused on the prompt 'Friends' and I'm glad it gave me the chance to write new to the force, shitty teenager McCree, because I've wanted to explore that McCree for a while!

“I’ll try and get that report squared away for you tonight,” Jack said, leaning slightly out of the webcam’s frame as he looked for something on his desk. On the other side of the call, Gabriel nodded, flipping through his own papers.

“Appreciate it,” he replied wearily. “That’s one less thing to worry about. There’s too much shit going on.” His old friend eyed him sympathetically.

“I’ll bet.” He flipped open the file he had retrieved, only half interested in it as he continued on. “How’s the kid? Still surly?”

“Of course he’s still surly,” Gabriel shot back with a sigh. “I’m pretty sure surly’s the only mode he’s got.” He propped his legs up on the desk, looking through the window into the training room. The surly new recruit in question was seated on a crate, polishing his pistol, and his commander eyed him wryly. “Ana says he’ll warm up. Not sure I buy it.”

“He’ll need time, either way,” Jack remarked. “Hard to believe he was running with Deadlock so young. That’s probably what he’s used to more than anything else.” He smiled slightly, his gaze returning to Gabriel. “He’s not so different than how you were when I met you, Gabe. And you were older.”

“Ah, don’t go digging all that up,” Gabriel protested playfully. “I get what you’re saying. I’ll keep working on him.” Which reminded him that it was Friday, and he was supposed to have some update for Ana on his progress with the kid. “I’ll let you get some more work done. Talk to you tonight.”

“Of course.” Once the call had ended, he spun around in his chair and hit the intercom. “McCree, c’mere.” The young agent looked up curiously, then nodded at the window and shoved his pistol into his belt. Gabriel took a deep breath when he turned away, steeling himself for another round of evasive answers and bad attitude. He knew that McCree was better suited for Blackwatch than anywhere else, but he couldn’t help but wonder sometimes if Jack and Ana had saddled him with the kid as some sort of inside joke. He had been hard to handle since the moment Gabriel wrestled him to the ground during the Deadlock sting, and as much as he had tried to avoid Jack’s jokes, he could see plenty of his younger self in McCree, and he knew he wasn’t the only one.

“Reyes. Whatcha need?” McCree swaggered into the room with all his usual ease, his eyes hidden under the brim of a hat far too large and a typical defiant sneer curling his lips. He tried too hard to act tougher than he was, Reyes noted with amusement.

“Just checking in. I thought you were still training,” he said, shuffling through his papers. McCree took a seat on the other side of the desk, eyeing his commander with interest.

“Who says I’m not?”

“Oh.” Gabriel laughed openly, and he couldn’t help but appreciate the way McCree bristled. “Didn’t realize we were pretending I didn’t just see you sitting on your ass in there.”

“I was takin’ a break. Didn’t realize y’all Overwatch types didn’t allow that.” McCree pushed his hat up so that he could make proper eye contact. “Sorry, _sir_.” Gabriel smirked right back, shaking his head. It was far too easy and far too fun to get under the kid’s skin.

“Don’t let it happen again,” he shot back, just light enough to let McCree know that he was teasing. “How’s training treating you, then?”

“Fine.”

“Sure, _now_ you don’t want to run your mouth.” Gabriel pulled his beanie off to run a hand through his hair. “Details, kid. I can’t send you into the field if I don’t know where you belong out there.” Now McCree tilted his head slightly, his interest piqued.

“You’re trying to send me into the field?” he asked, surprised. “I figured y’all didn’t trust me not to go running off first time you give me a chance.”

“You’re not exactly helping matters, McCree.” Gabriel rolled his eyes. “You can run off any time you like. You’ll just go back to being a criminal, except without the get out of jail free card this time around.” He gestured at the office door behind McCree, his grin broadening. “But if that’s no problem for you, door’s open. Go on.” McCree scoffed, leaning back in the chair instead.

“Training’s fine,” he finally decided to elaborate. “I like sparring with Reinhardt. Big guy asks a lot of questions, but he’s a good challenge. I got tired of fighting training bots a while ago.” He shrugged and glanced at the other side of the room. “I could use a new gun. Mine’s busted from when you guys picked me up.”

“I’ll put in an order,” Gabriel assured him. “Six-shooter works for you?”

“Yeah.” The commander made a note of it, then leaned forward on the desk.

“Dr. Ziegler says you keep skipping your appointments,” he continued. McCree shrugged again, looking back at him.

“I ain’t sick.”

“They’re just physicals, McCree. We’re just making sure everything’s in order.” McCree eyed him dully, and Gabriel resisted the urge to groan. “It’s procedure.”

“All this lecturing’s makin’ my trigger finger itchy,” McCree interrupted, shaking his head. “I’ll go see the doc tomorrow.” He rose to his feet, leaving Gabriel to roll his eyes again and return to the music player he had turned off when Jack called.

“Fine,” he said simply, switching the song back on and reaching for his headphones. McCree paused at the door, listening to a familiar twang of guitar with his hand on the door.

“Springsteen?” he asked, looking over his shoulder. Gabriel plugged his headphones in, cutting the riff off.

“I _know_ it’s old-school. I don’t need you poking fun at me for it, too,” he grunted. “Reinhardt listens to David Hasselhoff’s music, if you need someone to make jokes about.” To his surprise, McCree turned back, his face slightly reddened.

“Nah, I wasn’t gonna make fun of you,” he assured him. “I just…I like him, too.” Now Gabriel paused the song again, raising an eyebrow.

“ _You_? Listen to Bruce Springsteen?” he asked, entirely failing to conceal his shock. “How old are you, again?” He paused at the sight of McCree grimacing, and watched him squirm slightly.

“I know, I know,” he mumbled. “My…my dad played it a lot. When I was a kid.” Gabriel softened, allowing himself a warm chuckle as he pulled the headphones back out.

“You’re still a kid,” he reminded him, if only to earn a half-hearted glare. “You wanna listen?” McCree didn’t answer, staring hesitantly at the screen, and Gabriel motioned at the chair. “Come on. You were taking a break, remember?” Finally, McCree allowed himself a short laugh, shaking his head as he returned to the desk.

“Alright, boss,” he said, grinning as he slouched in the chair again. Gabriel wondered if this much belonged in his report to Ana, but for now, he settled for pressing play.


End file.
